Dear Mr. Paper

Nothing really inspired me, it just came to me. I realized how much I adored writing, and if it wasn't for this glorious paper that has been so generous to me, then I don't know what I would do. I just love poetry.

A blank paper An untouched paper Preferably in this color, pearl white. A pen in hand, an open mind, An imagination running to its fullest capacity My fingers begin to tingle The rush in my brain begins to explode with ideas. The words just come, like innumerable bombs They fire away and they don’t stop.

It hears the sounds of my wail The pleading of a cure that won’t ever come. It tastes the tears that shed The rain that poured and drenched the thin rough paper. It feels the sharp touch The quick poetic words. It observes the happiness of my soul The colors shine through the sheet when the tears have past.

This blank paper, It’s so patient with me It comforts me when I’ve done wrong. It listens when no one’s there. With such wide-eyed lucidity, it accepts: My affectionate words, my inspirational imagery. My heartbreaking words, the tears and the life difficulties. My outraged words, my temper enraged with devious thoughts. My tranquil words, the soothing simplicity of my soul.

For only your Mr. Paper, You sniff the scent of my world in words You listen to the chords of my soul You savor the teardrops of unbearable grief I poor out You see the vital truth between the lines You hold my pain with your jagged palm And for all that you do, I love you.

Here, I’ll leave my heart on this paper This simple insignificant piece, out of all the rest In the end of this— This blank paper, Is no longer untouched.

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